“I think not, sir.”
“Why?”
“The scrapes are fresh, far more so than any other abrasions we’ve found. And there is fresh blood, sir. And off to the north, near the river’s bank, we found a bone yard.”
“Not unusual to find bone yards, commander. Teutonic knights built these castles centuries ago and had a penchant for order. The markings are probably from adventurous children in a nearby town.”
“Sir, unless these knights gnawed at the bones like wolves, then I don’t think they formed that bone yard and I doubt children could’ve made those scrapes.”
“Gnaw marks? Show me.”
The king and commander rode to the north side of the castle where several streams from the low-lying hills joined the Daugava. At the conflux of two tributaries, the king found the bone yard with thousands of bones loosely piled. He noticed several things at once. He noted that the bone yard was downstream from the castle. He dismounted and examined the bones, many were old, a few were from recent kills, and they did show teeth marks.
“Commander,” the king said as he held a large moose bone in his hand, “this bone yard was made by humans. It’s downstream so that the drinking water isn’t fouled by spoiled flesh. Dogs have gnawed some of the bones; wolves looking for bone marrow, I suspect. And the collection is too neat to be anything wild.”
The king tossed the bone back into the pile. “The men’s imaginations are getting the best of them, commander. They’ll probably see a wolf’s head in the full moon tonight. Prepare the camp and instruct the men to put this foolishness behind them.”
As the sun sat mutely on the horizon, it lit up the castle walls with a golden light. The men sat around a large campfire and watched the full moon inch its way across the sky from the west. The king, to pass time, told tales of the Teutonic knight’s battles against the pagans and nobles that populated this region. They ate and drank while four men posted as sentries at each corner tower watched the dark beyond.
“This land has hosted many wars of love and revenge,” the king started as he ate flesh from the bone of a cooked deer. “Sometime near the year 1500, probably very close to where we are now, a young nobleman fell in love with the lovely Danusia of the court of Duchess Anna. The nobleman was sentenced to death because of a conflict with a delegate of the Teutonic knights, who were prominent in the area. Just before he’s about to hang from the gallows, Danusia rushes onto the platform and declares her love. She promises to marry him and the execution is stayed. But a wrong had been committed against the knights by the nobleman and they held a grudge. They laid in wait for the nobleman. This wouldn’t be a story if something dreadful had not happened, and the Teutonic knights kidnap Danusia. Her father captured! Tortured! Maimed! And the young nobleman set out on a quest to find his love.”
“Did he find her, King?” a nearby soldier asked.
“He did, but it was too late. Danusia was tortured, too, a lengthy torture. You see, her father, weak and old, succumbed quickly at the hands of the knights. Not Danusia, though. She was strong in spirit, so much so that she was driven insane in resistance and she died a gruesome death. She leaped from a castle wall in a failed escape, only breaking her back in the fall. And it was painful death. It took twelve days for her to die. Some say there was a year of war for each day she suffered.”
The king stood and tossed a bone into the campfire. “The circle of revenge, men!” he yelled, “The war to rid this area of the Teutonic knights lasted twelve years. In some ways, it’s never ended. Because here we are, some two hundred years later, rushing to rescue another kidnapped girl. Some say, and this is only rumor, that the horrors that dart about in the shadows in our homeland are descendants of the Teutonic knights. That they made a deal with the devil and their souls forever walk this earth. That our fresh blood is their vengeance.”
“What happened to the nobleman?” the same solder asked know sitting on his hands in anticipation.
To the north, far beyond the river, a howl ventured across the river to the sentries and sent shivers down their spines. The closest sentry scanned to the river’s shore, thought he saw movement and brought the alarm horn to his lips, but he never had a chance to blow. The half wolf, half man creature ran its elongated thin finger across the sentries’ throat like a sadistic murderous violinist. No melody rushed forth, just a gush of blood leapt into the air, and the lone sentry was silently dragged toward the river.
“The nobleman!” the king continued at the campfire unaware that the camp was under attack, “He had lost his love. His serfs abandoned him. On the last day of battle, he drove his sword into the chest of that last known knight, then wiped it clean by dragging it across his own chest. He then traveled to Danusia’s grave site … ”
Another sentry heard a sound—a low growl to his left. He turned and didn’t see anything. When he fell back into his position, he heard another sound to his right and when he turned, it was there. Its bone white fangs glinted the foul moisture of the creatures slaver in the moonlight, mere inches from the sentry’s face. He could smell the creature’s breath. He could feel the heat of it. Before he could grab his pike. Before he could scream. Before he could pray to the gods to save his soul, he heard the growl from behind and felt the searing pain of fangs severing his backbone. It was over in a flash, a murmur.
The king walked around the campfire, drug his feet across the fringe embers so that a small firestorm of embers jutted into the air. “The once nobleman, now a common peasant, but a peasant in love, took the sword that killed the last Teutonic Knight and fell upon it. He lay bleeding on Danusia’s grave. As he laid there, his sword channeling his sincere blood onto the earth, he whispered to the only family he had left, his sister, my great-great grandmother … ”
Equally as quick, the third sentry fell, and then the fourth. There was far more than the hush of death surrounding the remaining men of the king, and the king himself. The leader of the werewolves pressed his furry back into the stone wall and had listened to the entire tale as told by the king from the cover of a pillar. He knew the story well and halted his men before the final breach into the interior of the decrepit castle. He had known all along there was something special about this leader of men, this King Charles. He could smell the history in the king’s blood and the king’s story only confirmed it: the king’s ancestors had killed his ancestors. The wolves that silently lay in wait had blood rushing through their veins, blood from centuries old Teutonic Knights. And their leader was to see it avenged.
The king took his seat and grabbed his pike.
“What was the whisper, King?” the young soldier insisted, barely able to control himself.
The king brought his pike into the air so that it flashed the orange and crimson flames of the campfire. “The WHISPER?” the king yelled.
“Yes, King, what did the nobleman whisper?”
“Ah, yes. He whispered, ‘I’ve died this day because I didn’t any other. I die for you, Danusia. I’ve given my life to a grave and soon will be in one. May God have mercy on my soul.’”
A lingering growl startled the men around the campfire. Three or four, or maybe seven howls echoed and bounced off the interior walls of the crumbling castle in a collection of confusion. It happened so quickly, and with such vociferously that the king’s men were caught off guard, unable to pinpoint the attackers. Several of the king’s men were picked off with ease.
The king focused on the nearest blur and rammed his pike through the creature. It howled a deafening howl and the king watched it scamper off towards the river. He turned to face another, but the creatures were gone, just he and nine of his men remained. The bodies of three creatures lay near the campfire. And between the castle and the river, a lone creature stood, his body backlighted by the moonlight’s rays reflecting off the river’s water.
“Commander!” The king yelled, but there was no response. “These creatures are smart,” the king murmured under his breath. “They always take out
my commander.” The king was incensed and tired of these creatures, tired of the ambush attacks. He raised his pike into the air, and roared, “death is here and it waits for you.” He ran toward the creature. The creature stamped on the ground in anticipation. It replied with a snarling decree of its own. “Then death it shall be, KING,” and the fight was on.
The king gripped a nearby soldier’s pike in his left hand and threw it. The creature deftly ducked and sprinted on all fours with the speed of a wolf toward the king. It leapt into the air and effortlessly pushed the king’s pike aside when the king fell on his back, trying to impale it as he had done before in the forest. The king caught the creature’s weight with both feet and used its momentum to toss it over him. Before the king had a chance to get to his feet, the creature was on top of him, its hairy paws pinned the king’s shoulders to the earth.
“Your blood flows, King. It flows with history, but it shall FLOW NO MORE!” the creature shouted. It opened its jaws and as it was about to rip the king’s exposed throat when his commander rushed in and lunged a pike into the creature’s back. The creature stood straight up and let out a howl of pain.
“No!” the king yelled as he rose to his feet. “Do not help me. This fight is between us.”
The king picked up his pike and took a defensive stance, placing the campfire between him and the creature. The creature circled, and then lunged. The king evaded the first attack by using the fire as a barrier. He kneeled, grabbed a handful of hot embers with his bare hands, and threw them at the creature—the stoked embers caught flame and set the hair of the creature’s arms ablaze.
The king’s hands were on fire. He could feel the blisters boiling on his skin, but he grabbed another handful and tossed them above the creature’s head. When the creature looked up to dodge the fireball, the king rushed forward, straight through the flames, and drove his pike deep into the creature’s chest.
The creature fell to his knees with its paws grasping the shaft of the impaled pike. The other creatures howled a woeful cry and then there was silence. Everyone held their ground as if they were solid figurines.
The king walked over to the dying creature, laid his hand on its shoulder and knelt with him. “What is the name of the kidnapper?” the king asked. “And don’t tell me Gaten.”
“Kieran … ” the creature answered just before he fell to the ground and died. The name rang true and the king bowed his head.
“Let that be a lesson …” the young commander began to shout before the king stopped him.
“No, Commander,” hhe king shouted and then lowered his voice to a sense of sorrow. “No lesson here, none could be worse. This creature died for nothing. His men, our comrades, died for nothing.”
The moments of silence were interrupted by the cries of the other creatures, as they retrieved the body of their fallen leader and drug it off towards to forest to the north. Above them, a texture of dark clouds shielded the moon and world was black, mournful.
Chapter IV
~ The Yew Tree ~
The next morning, Crimson, Uric, and Sergen were in their chambers when they heard the countess calling for them. Uric opened his door to find the countess in the hallway, “Yes, my lady.”
“Uric, you and Crimson follow me. Sergen, my husband has chores for you in the stables.”
Crimson and Uric followed the countess to the courtyard while Sergen made his way to the stables. The sun was just peeking over the walls and the morning weather was pleasant. The countess took a seat on a bench near the large yew tree. “You two seem to find trouble when idle,” she said. “It’s a beautiful day and I want my flower beds readied for the upcoming spring. Start with the one along the west wall.”
“Uric, you’re German, correct?” Crimson asked when they knelt to weed the flowerbed.
“Yes.”
“Have you thought of escape? Germany is only a short distance from here, I think.”
“Yes, my lady, but I think it’s best I remain here.”
“Yes, Darya, right? I see how she favors you.”
“It’s not a favor, but a condition of her mother. But yes, Darya, I feel I’ve failed her in every measure of a man.”
“I doubt that, Uric. Seldom does a woman fall in love with the virtue of a man.”
“What do you mean?”
“Simple, women love desire and flashes of affection. A connection. They want to be swept away by it. They want to feel that it’s out of their control.”
“But I’ve seen how you are with Sergen.”
“I’ll admit, I got carried away with it, but that’s different than love.”
“I don’t think Darya has ever felt that way about me. She sees me as a disappointment.”
“Nonsense, Uric. Stop talking about yourself in that way!” Crimson shouted. “Believe me, if she weren’t interested, you’d not be in her bedchambers, even if it were arranged by the countess.”
The countess yelled from her seat, “Stop talking and keep working, Crimson!”
Uric pulled and tossed a weed into the pile they were making. “Crimson, do you really think Sena will carry through with your pact?”
“I do.”
“Why?”
“Because she understands as only a woman can.”
“If you say so. I’d suggest you not get your hopes up. I don’t think she’s much woman anymore.”
Crimson smiled. “You see, Uric, you don’t understand. You cannot know how gently Viktor would lower himself onto my body when we were near the lake. How my hair would flow across his chest like an opulent whisper when I straddled him. How the warmth of his mouth felt on my breast and lips. It’s a waterfall of sensation, Uric. It’s a feeling you will never forget when you’re connected through love.”
“And you think Sena understands, even now, after all that has happened?”
Crimson pulled the only red poppy flower from the bed. “Look at this, Uric,” she said. “This flower shouldn’t be here this time of year, but it is. Its vividly red petals, the black spot at the base—it’s perfect, but completely out of place. Sena understands just as this flower does. Love and its underlying unity prevail and one doesn’t forget such a thing, it propels you.”
“How do you know this Viktor is even looking for you?” Uric asked.
“Because he must.”
“I wish for a love like that,” Uric pined. “To be honest, I’ve often thought of taking a long sleep from the cones of that yew tree near the countess.”
“You mean?”
“It’s just a thought.”
Just then, Tor entered the courtyard. “There you two are. Sergen has readied the stable. Tonight you will return to your chambers one final time and await Kieran’s men in the morning.”
“Kieran’s men?” Crimson questioned. The name Kieran sent shivers down her spine that came to a faltering stop in her belly. She hadn’t thought about Kieran in some time.
“Yes, all three of you are going back to the auction house,” Tor said.
Crimson cringed at the thought. Even as distasteful as it was being a member of Tor’s concubine and the fact that she had to suffer at his pawing hands—this palace was where she was, this palace was where Sena would send message for rescue. “You can’t, Lord Tor,” Crimson pleaded. “You mustn’t send us back.”
“I’m afraid that I must.”
Crimson looked at Tor with imploring caramel eyes and a slight pout on her lips. “Have I not pleased you, Lord Tor? Have I not pretended to put up a fight when I wanted you most?”
“You have, my lovely one, but the decision doesn’t rest with me.”
“So the countess then?”
“Yes and no. The decision has been given to me. It rests on my shoulders as heavy as the world itself. I must do what is right for me and my wife. That is why I’ve contacted Kieran and am sending you back.”
Crimson fell heavy onto her calves. She was beside herself with anxiety and it made her feel sick to her stomach. She knew
she couldn’t be returned to the auction house, it was wrought with danger. She also knew that there was no hope of changing the countess’s mind. What if Kieran did as he promised and took her for his own? Worse, what if she were sold and sent to some place far, far away. She had had her fill of forced love, knew the shallowness of it. She now needed and wanted Viktor more than ever.
* * * *
It was mid-day and Sena found the experience of her new body formidable and exciting. It was as if a switch had been flipped and all those little rumblings of instinct that she used to ignore were now brought to the surface. The internal feeling was animalistic, powerful, and it coursed through her veins. She felt supernatural. She was a creature, as wild and as primal as the animals that she had once feared.
She sensed her change as she tracked any peripheral movement from the bow of her tree. A tree squirrel darting about the tree branches or the young peasant child playing in the fields seemed like easy game as she made her way toward Riga to find Viktor. And the urge to feed worked on her mind. It drove her reflexes—she needed to taste blood. Near the Daugava River, Sena crouched in a bow of a tree and watched a small deer wander through the woods. At first, she fought the urge to attack, but suddenly, the deer darted down a path and the mere quickness of the animal’s movement overcame her and she pounced. The small animal didn’t stand a chance as Sena bore down on it.
After she fed, she felt the spirit of the deer run through her veins. She could feel the healing of her own body and sensed that she was becoming stronger, more in touch with what she was now—a female vampire, a glimmer of all that she was capable of.
She quickly made her way along the Daugava River until she was on the outskirts of Riga. There she waited while she forced herself to remember the cross and the crescent moon. She thought of love and the little messengers that dare set foot on earth. She thought of herself as a seraph.
Sena closed her eyes and recalled Crimson’s words. “He has a birthmark, the shape of Cygnus, on the left of his neck. It’s the shape of a large cross. And on his right collarbone, another birthmark, the shape of a crescent moon.” She recalled Crimson’s kiss as she traced each shape on her tongue.
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